


Retribution

by LeftAss



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Female Reader, M/M, Multi, Multimedia, Not Canon Compliant, Suicide mention, The FBI - Freeform, bisexual reader, can you tell i watch quantico, depictions of suicide, more tags to come as i add chapters sorry this is so bare, this is my 'i watch too many fbi shows' bastard child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftAss/pseuds/LeftAss
Summary: The man in front of you didn’t seem so moved by your explanation.He repeated his question.“You were kicked out of the Academy for driving a NAT to suicide in front of your entire class. Why do you want to work for Overwatch?”“I guess you could say I want retribution, sir.”-In a search to find answers, you get a lot more than you bargained for.





	1. The Interview

“Welcome. To begin this process, please state your name and your date of birth.”

You were in a small, nondescript room. A man you’d never met was sitting across a small metal table from you. 

You noticed his clasped hands rested on a manila folder bearing your full legal name.

“Before we proceed with the test, I’ll give you a warm-up to get you used to the machine.”

You knew what the machine was. You were being given a polygraph test.

“Please state something you believe to be true.”

“I have no idea where I am right now.”

“Now, tell me a lie.”

“I’m comfortable right now.” 

He glanced at the machine and nodded to himself.

“I will now ask you a series of questions. Unless asked to elaborate, they will simply be ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions. Don’t even bother trying to fabricate, because I will know.” 

You swore he looked at you like he dared you to lie. 

You nodded and tried to keep your expression as neutral as possible. You were no stranger to polygraph tests. That didn’t mean you liked them.

A polygraph turned your life upside down. These tests were evil.

You were brought back down to Earth when you heard the man across from you clear his throat. You didn’t realize you were clenching your fists.

He looked into your eyes and held your gaze. It felt like he was staring into your soul and reading your mind.

“You are hiding something.”

You stared back. It wasn’t a question.

He sighed. “Are you withholding information concerning your criminal history?”

“No.”

“Have you ever physically harmed a friend, or…. A partner?”

“No.”

“Have you tried?”

“No.”

“Have you wished to?”

“ _ No. _ ” 

He raised a brow at your responde. He could notice you becoming mildly irritated.

“Are you unhappy with me suggesting you would harm a partner?”

“Yes.”

“Is the subject a sore spot?”

You were practically shaking. Your hands were becoming clammy.

“ _ Yes _ .”

He pulled a page from the folder and inspected it. He seemed interested in something.

“Have you ever struggled with substance abuse?”

Ouch. “No-....” You sighed. “Yes.”

“Did this occur within the last calendar year?”

“Yes.”

“Have you received treatment?”

“Yes.” This was embarrassing. You laid your head down on the desk. If you couldn't see him, he couldn't see you, right?  


“Do you realize there is a legitimate concern about the risk of issuing clearances to someone with a history of substance abuse?”

Double ouch. “Yes, sir.” It was circumstantial. Could this one thing really count you out?

He stared at you until you raised your head and held eye contact.

You could feel the kicker coming.

Without breaking eye contact, he started to speak. 

“Why  _ do _ you wish to join Overwatch, agent?”

* * *

  
  


You sat in yet another counterintelligence exercise at the Academy, surrounded by vapis classmates who constantly tried to play hero. The classroom was at capacity.

You felt isolated.

Your roommate and only friend so far, Katarina Lehner, reached over to grab your hand. Her thumb rubbed circles on it while she leaned over and whispered, “you’ll do fine. I have nothing to hide.”

You glanced at her and saw her try at a small smile. Her face was silhouetted by the single movie theater-sized screen illuminating the room. 

You knew she did have things to hide. 

You knew you would have to address it in front of this room full of other trainees. Maybe they had the same secrets.

The pair completing the exercise before you finished, applauded by your instructor and classmates. 

Your stomach felt like it dropped through the floor.

The two of you stood and made your way out of the auditorium. The hallway leading to the faux interrogation room was a stark white and it felt like it was a mile long. Your head was overwhelmed by the sound of your assistant instructor’s heel clicks. In the sensory vacuum that was this hallway, they almost reminded you of tiny gunshots.

Before you knew it, you’d reached the door separating you from the interrogation room. The assistant instructor pulled the handle and ushered the two of you in. The lock clicked on the door immediately.

Your instructor’s voice filled the room, providing instructions and introducing you to the class, who was watching on the large screen. 

This exercise, unlike the first interrogation, did not use the traditional polygraph machine. Instead, a few techs had set up a variety of cameras pointed toward both the table and the examinee. These cameras broadcast a live video of the examinee’s body language and behavior, like their eye movement and fidgeting. 

Your assignment that week had been to observe and conduct research on a partner whose file you picked up. It was intended to give trainees experience in collecting and assembling intelligence pieces into dossiers to identify threats.

In this exercise, your instructor noted that one major piece of information was missing from pre-assembled dossiers, and it was your job to find the missing piece of information. Then, you’d interrogate your partner to get them to confirm the information or possibly spill more, depending on how you did as an examiner.

You already knew a lot about Trainee Lehner. 

You didn’t like what you found during your research. You didn’t want answers.

You broke out of your thoughts when you saw her bright ocean eyes looking up at you. 

This was going to hurt.

You took a seat across from her and clasped your hands on the table. Her “dossier” was sitting to your right. You wouldn’t need it.

Your instructor’s voice invaded the room again. “Simple question first. Remember, ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions only, trainee.”

You took a long blink as you tried to calm your nerves. 

“Was your previous professional occupation a nurse?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She smiled. 

Your instructor spoke again. “Now go for something more complicated.”

“Are you close with your parents?”

She drew in a breath. 

“It depends.”

“Are you close with your mother?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Trainee, ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions.” Your instructor intruded again to reprimand you. 

“Alright. Are you close with your father?”

“I was until he died.”

“Is it true your father died in a car accident?” You hoped it didn’t feel like too much of a dig.

“Yes.”

Cue your instructor yet again. “Pay attention to her eyes. She’s not telling the complete truth.” This bought you some time, since you knew that hint would be followed by your instructor explaining optical behavior to your classmates as a characteristic of lying. 

You didn’t need to see her face. You knew she was lying. 

You took a deep breath.

“Are you aware of your late father’s legal history?”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes.

“Have you ever provided him with assistance?” You were trying to buy more time.

There was a long pause. “Yes.”

“I assume you were aware that the man was possible a double agent with international terrorist organization Talon, yes?”

Her voice wavered. “Yes.”

“Do you know which organization he worked for professionally in addition to Talon?”

“Yes.”

“It was Overwatch, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Was the assistance you provided your father on work that affected Overwatch in any way?”

Your instructor hadn’t tuned in to the room in a while. You were getting anxious.

“Was any of this work related to an attack on a specific field base in Germany?”

She didn’t answer. She was crying.

You were upset and losing your grip fast.

“Do you understand that you took over a hundred lives that day?”

She started crying harder.

You stood up and slammed your palms against the table.

“You killed a hundred innocent people! Can you live with yourself knowing that?”

She was shaking.

You lowered your voice. “Do you know that this incident is how your father died, not in a car accident like his captain, who was in the goddamn ICU told you?”

“Trainee….” your instructor’s issued a warning. This was getting out of hand fast. 

“Why did you do it?!” Your palms slammed against the table again, and it sounded like a gunshot in your chaotic state. 

You looked up at her tear-stained face.

Your voice went soft again. You felt hot tears threatening to leave the corners of your eyes.

“_You killed my fiancée_.”

Her eyes went wide. She started shaking again.

“I… I-I, I’m sorry….” 

You should have never buried your face in your hand.

You wasted the time. You weren’t fast enough.

You saw a flash of her holding up a gun before it all happened. 

Time stopped. Time was moving at light speed. You were dizzy.

You flew to her side in an attempt to disarm her.

It was too late. You couldn’t stop her.

You curled up on the hard concrete floor at her side, grasping her hand while your ears rang and the world around you disappeared.

A variety of faculty and security swarmed in the room but you couldn’t see or feel anything. 

Trainee Lehner was never coming back.

Your fiancée was gone and never coming back.

And you? You were leaving and never coming back. 

* * *

The man in front of you didn’t seem so moved by your explanation.

He repeated his question.

“You were kicked out of the Academy for driving a NAT to suicide in front of your entire class.  _ Why do you want to work for Overwatch, and why do you think we should hire you? _ ”

“I guess you could say I want retribution.”


	2. What Happened in Germany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brief on that little Germany incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I am SO sorry it took me literal months to update. This'll be a sexy lil double-upload since this chapter is so short (but I had to stick to the standard AP style brief).

**German Overwatch base suffers explosion Friday, Talon claiming credit**  
July 20, 2050

STUTTGART, Germany (Daily Post) – An explosion at an Overwatch Watchpoint base in Germany killed dozens of agents and staff Friday. First responders attempted rescue operations, but the structure was destroyed before their arrival.

The explosion occurred at an estimated 3:30 p.m. Friday afternoon. The structure was unstable and suffered a cave-in around 4:00 p.m, according to local firefighters.

The surviving agents and commanding staff were on remote missions at the time of the explosion. No civilians were involved.

When asked for comment, Overwatch Strike Commander Jack Morrison stated that he and his officers are taking the incident “very seriously,” and will conduct an extensive investigation into the incident in order to determine its causes and prevent further occurrences. Morrison has declined to give further comment to The Daily Post.

Business will resume as usual in other Watchpoint locations, though increased security and counter-terrorism measures will be implemented in the wake of Friday’s explosion.

The underground terrorist organization Talon is the only group to claim credit for the attack Friday. German law enforcement officials do not believe there is probable cause for concern about an attack on the general public in Stuttgart. However, many citizens are shaken; Stuttgart was the epicenter of one of the most notable siege efforts of the Omnic Crisis, and its residents clearly remain shaken from the attack.

Overwatch's United Nations Director Petras addressed the public via press conference Friday evening: “We cannot hide from this event. While they have lowered our numbers, they have not dulled our shine. We will continue to provide peacemaking efforts for a global society. We will be amplifying our counter-terrorism efforts, both internally and externally. Any operatives within our organization suspected of involvement with this incident will be monitored, and if needed, dishonorably discharged.”

This story is developing and will be updated as new details are available.

**Similar Stories at The Daily Post:**

  * Overwatch’s Reyes demoted, Morrison promoted
  * Overwatch announces philanthropy partnership alongside Doctors Without Borders


	3. New in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get introduced to the real job and take a tour of Headquarters.

Newly-appointed Strike Commander Jack Morrison and Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes were holed up in Gabriel’s office, thumbing through a stack of formal applications to work at Overwatch. This process was always a headache; military transition and even enemy combatant recruitment hurt less than this process.

Commander Reyes was never a fan of receiving recruits from any kind of civilian education system, specifically. Most of them barely had what it takes to end up with the blues on the Overwatch side, and most of them ended up in admin and non-combatant positions anyway. 

But in Blackwatch… _ everyone _ in Blackwatch needed to be prepared for combat. It was the nature of covert operations. 

What was a black ops agent that couldn’t fucking fight?

Most of them also didn’t have the temperament. The civilians wanted to be heroes. They wanted to do good. 

So why was Morrison trying to push one on him?

Strike Commander Morrison cleared his throat as he pushed an enclosed envelope toward Reyes. It bore your legal name and the headshot used for your FBI Academy credentials. 

Morrison may have had more power than himself at this point, but… really?

“Morrison, if you think I’m taking on a _ civilian _ on my team, you must be a bigger idiot than I thought.” 

“Take one look at her file and tell me why I should accept her in Overwatch.” He held intense eye contact with Reyes, clearly unhappy. 

Reyes flipped through your file, unimpressed. 

“She’s not suited for black ops, Morrison.”

The Strike Commander sighed, not wanting to draw out the discussion any further than he had to. “She’s extremely competent. Managed to enter the Academy straight out of college. Passed every assessment with flying colors.”

“Sounds like a blue to me.”

“Gabriel. She drove an agent trainee to suicide during a _ class activity_.”

“So she’s a hothead.”

“Which is _ why _ I can’t have her on my teams. But, Gabriel, hear me out. She is smart. She conducted an under-the-table investigation on this poor girl and while her interrogation skills need work, she was effective for someone who’s never done it before.”

Gabriel crossed his arms and stared at Jack.

Jack sighed again. “You said it yourself that you needed a competent analyst, Gabe. She’s right there. If you _ actually _ read her file, you’d know she’s also on a revenge mission for what happened in Germany.”

Now _ that _ took Gabriel back. He lost a lot of good remote agents that day.

“What about Germany?”

Jack’s voice softened. “She lost her fiancée, Gabe. Their wedding date was going to be in a month.”

Gabriel sat with his mouth in a straight line, not giving any cues to his thoughts. 

Jack reached his hand across the table to grab Gabriel’s. “And I know you’re very fond of your unhinged, revenge-motivated recruits.” This made Gabriel smile slightly. 

“Fine, fine, you got me. I’ll run through her background checks and get something set up if I like her enough.” 

“Thank you, Gabe.” Jack got leaned over and gave Gabriel a small peck on the cheek before leaving the office with the rest of his files.

* * *

After a mound of job offer conditions and Non-Disclosure Agreements were signed and done for following your “interview,” Commander Reyes joined you in the hallway outside the office. 

“Agent, I must be straightforward with you. Don’t be alarmed, but there are a few details I left out about your more… official job description that I couldn’t explain before the agreements. You know, the nature of covert operations and all.”

You nodded. You knew there was a catch, but you didn’t know it would be revealing itself this early.

“While you signed on to be a general analyst for Overwatch’s covert operations department, there’s a bit more you need to know about what you’re actually expected to do. Care to join me in my office to discuss it?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

He led you wordlessly, and you kept busy by observing your surroundings during the trip. The base you were in seemed more clinical and akin to a hospital than the FBI field offices you’d visited, and definitely more so than the Academy. It felt more like you were back in the dorms than anything. It made sense, you supposed, but it didn’t feel like you were training alongside Special Agents who would be at the forefront of American politics and law enforcement. 

“Earth to Rookie, we’re here.” Your eyes snapped up to meet his while you apologized. Way to look good on the first day, huh?

He ushered you in first, and you took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs at his desk. 

“I’m going to let you in on a secret.” He leaned in, meeting your eyes. “This ain't the damn government. You don't _ get _a job description. You do what the team needs you to. While it is true that you’re a new analyst, you will be expected to perform a range of duties that your pals in Overwatch will not. I run Blackwatch differently.”

You nodded, following along. 

“On paper, you’re our new Strike Operations Analyst. Fancy, right?” He grinned. “You’ll obviously be assigned the usual duties: monitoring intelligence and leads on our more sensitive missions.”

He pulled out a file folder, similar to the one he referred to during your interview. He opened it to reveal printed copies of a variety of the stories you had written when you were still a foreign affairs reporter.

“And clearly, you know how to write. You will be expected to create reports for any developments and insights. This includes an intelligence brief that goes to select officers monthly. However, unlike the analysts upstairs, you’ll be more hands-on when it comes to our missions. From time to time, you will accompany the Blackwatch strike team on missions. Others, you will be working alongside communications here at base.”

You were never military. You had never been on any kind of mission before, aside from the joint exercises you ran alongside the NATs at the Academy. Pretend scenarios with fake ammunition were one thing, but actual missions with actual people and actual repercussions?

“I realize that since you were… dismissed from the Academy early, you do not have much mission experience. We will train you for this. And whether you like it or not, this includes combat training. For some reason, the feebs don’t find it necessary to teach their god damn analysts how to fight. Black ops gets messy, and you need to hold your own.”

He followed with a smirk that made you uneasy. 

“In fact, your training begins tomorrow. Early.”

Did he really expect you to keep up? With his _ strike team _?

“I do need to include something. This is a brand new position, and I imagine it’s going to change during your time here. You good with change, rookie?”

“Yes, sir. Flexible is my middle name, sir.”

You mentally slapped yourself. What the fuck? Were you stupid or something?

Commander Reyes raised an eyebrow at you, amused by your comment.

You briefly wondered if you could ask him to shoot you right then and there.

“Alright, then. You ready for your tour, Miss Flexible?” He threw a joking wink your way, and you swore you’d rather be dead after all.

* * *

The first stop on your tour of Headquarters was the communications hub. 

Commander Reyes ushered you through the doorway first, following close behind. “On missions, you will be working closely with this group.” He gestured to the row of computers, only two occupied at the moment. 

The Commander nodded at the two. “Afternoon, Coms. We got a new analyst here, mind introducing yourselves to the rookie?”

The one who occupied the farthest computer rose first. 

“Vanessa Clark, ma’am. Most people call me Vee, though. I’m a Coms Liaison, and I specialize in cultural and language differences in your communications. Basically, if you’re lost, I got you.” She winked. Vanessa, or Vee, rather, sported a Londoner’s British accent. 

She was taller than you’d expected, and her hair was in tight braids wrapped on the top of her head. You were sure that if you stared into her friendly dark eyes too long, you’d fall under some kind of love spell.

“Inhuman typing speed and can speak six languages. One of the smartest of my recruits,” Commander Reyes chimed in. 

Vee did an exaggerated bow at his compliment. 

As Vee sat, the next team member rose. 

“Afternoon! Cale Higgins here, communications specialist. I help things run smoothly during missions and troubleshoot in emergencies.”

You felt a hand on your shoulder as the Commander walked closer. 

“Higgins here, they’ll be your main Coms contact during missions. They may seem shy but they’ve saved our asses on multiple occasions.” 

You nodded.

“As for the rest of the group, half are on classified internal projects and the rest are on field missions. But since you’ve got the skills, we’ll be taking you instead of a Coms member on our missions.”

Was that wise?

Cale seemed to offer you a sympathetic smile. 

Commander Reyes turned to you. “Ready to move on?”

“Yes, sir.” You waved goodbye at the Coms crew on your way out, following your commander.

“_Rockin’ the uniform, by the way! _” you heard Vee shout before the door closed. 

The comment made you blush. You didn’t actually look in a mirror to check how you looked, since Commander Reyes had you in a rush. 

It was at least better than the awful polo-khaki getup you had to wear at the Academy. The uniform the Commander had given you consisted of a black turtleneck (something you picked up on as a common thing in Blackwatch as you passed other agents in the hallway), a flexible pair of black cargo pants and black combat boots, complete with a belt holster and a military beret, which you swore people hadn’t seriously worn in a very long time. 

At least it was comfortable. And not khaki.

The holster belt was going to be odd to get used to, since at the Academy they only gave the dummy guns to agents trainees, not the analysts. 

The next department you visited was engineering. 

And you were greeted by… a gorilla. This wasn’t entirely shocking, since there had recently been a global crisis as a result of revolting robots and all, but usually you were used to talking robots, not animals. 

He was even wearing a little pair of glasses, which you could only describe as charming. 

He introduced himself as Winston, and gave you a friendly smile. The Commander didn’t seem to be paying him any attention.

While Winston was introducing himself to you and telling you about his adventures on the moon, a short man walked up and cleared his throat. 

And by short… he was _ short_. This man introduced himself as Torbjörn, a Swede who spent nearly all of his waking hours tinkering and fixing everyone’s (mostly Blackwatch’s, as he emphasized to Commander Reyes) messes. 

“Due to… rearranging, we’ve had to combine the systems and engineering departments,” Winston explained. “We also have a number of intricate technological projects that require expertise from both sides, so it really provides a large amount of benefits for all of us, even if it is unfamiliar.”

Interesting. You’d think an international United Nations-appointed peacemaking organization would have more resources. 

“Ah!” Winston piped up again, “I would like to speak to you about a project. Commander Reyes here delivered your information to us and I believe you would be a wonderful asset to a new technology we are working on. While I cannot elaborate much until you begin, it is an artificial intelligence-assisted software that helps create an augmented reality experience integrated with a map face so we can more efficiently record enemy activity and troubleshoot or prepare for missions.” There was a glimmer in his eyes, and he seemed excited. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The description was piquing your interest, no doubt. It reminded you of a talk some entrepreneur had given you back in college about how he used his major in his professional work. 

“I would love to!” 

“Wonderful! After you finish your combat training modules in the coming weeks and train with us shortly, we will begin assimilating you to the project.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and grinned. 

You heard the Commander beckoning you to the hallway, so you gave them rushed goodbyes and hurried to where he was standing against the wall. 

“We’ll be visiting the medbay next. You’ll be meeting our two head doctors – Angela, on the blues’ side, and Moira, who’s Blackwatch’s head medic.”

You nodded and followed along beside him.

The conversation on that leg of the trip was uneventful. Commander Reyes didn’t bother trying to engage in conversation while you took in your surroundings further. 

When you arrived at the medbay, you were greeted by one person, not two. 

“I do apologize, Doctor Ziegler is deeply involved in a procedure at the moment and cannot visit.” The present doctor stood extremely tall and lanky, with short fiery hair, and you detected an Irish accent in her speech. 

She extended a slim hand to you. “Pleasure to meet you. I am Doctor Moira O’Deorain. I oversee medical and health operations for Blackwatch specifically.” For looking so fragile, she had an extremely firm handshake. 

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” you returned her handshake. 

She seemed preoccupied with raising an eyebrow at Commander Reyes. “Not one of your typical scrappy recruits.” She seemed like she was… judging you? "Pray tell, Commander, when did you start recruiting children?"

He gave her a warning look.

“That’s enough, Doctor. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.” He turned on his heel, signaling that you follow him.

You spent another silent walk on the way to your quarters. As he was dropping you off, he reminded you about your training at 0500 hours and smirked, leaving wordlessly afterwards.

While you were on your tour, it seemed someone had come in and dropped the remainder of your uniforms off on your desk. There was an athletic training uniform consisting of joggers and a high-impact sports bra, both donning the Blackwatch logo on the left side. There was also a small folded pile of solid, nondescript sleeping clothes. You looked to your door, and noticed a full formal uniform, garment bag and all, hanging on the coat hanger. 

You decided to worry about organizing later. It was late afternoon but you were honestly desperate for dinner after the agonizing work of meeting so many new people who really didn’t seem that friendly. Save for the Coms team, maybe.

You decided you could wait a little longer until normal human dinner hours and decided to take a shower and wash the stress off. You made your way to the attached bathroom, but discovered it conveniently didn’t include a shower. 

Damn, what was this, freshman year of college again? You just prayed they wouldn’t be as disgusting as the communal showers you dealt with in the dorms again. 

Sighing, you grabbed a towel you found in the cabinet under your sink and checked the standard evacuation map plastered to your door underneath where your formal uniform was hung. Down the hall to the right. 

The cleanliness of the showers was fairly surprising, as was the fact they were co-ed, but they held the same people the dorm showers did. The person using one bar of soap to clean _ everything_, the person singing loudly and very off-key, you name it. 

When your stomach started growling at a faster pace, you hurried up and got the hell out of there to finally eat something. 

The Commander had passed the dining space on your tour earlier, but it was impossible to remember how to get there, so you took to consulting your handy-dandy evac map again. Some hospitality they had here.

You finally found your way to the dining area and grabbed a very unimpressive meal before snagging a spot alone at a small table by yourself. It was then, you decided, that you’d probably have to find a way to make friends somehow. Or bring your work to dinner? 

“You know, there’s a kitchen in the Blackwatch commons if you don’t want to eat… whatever it is they’re calling food tonight.” A voice coming from above startled you, and you looked up to see the Coms team from earlier, Vee and Cale. Vee had something wrapped in her hands, and Cale was sporting the same tray of food you were. 

Before you could respond, both sat down in front of you. 

Vee spoke first. “So, how’d some pretty young thing like you end up here?” Her eyebrow was cocked as she smiled at you. You blushed at her statement.

You hesitated. “Government dropout.”

“What’d you do? Felony? Espionage? _ Treason_?” She was smirking now, clearly too amused. 

You took a deep breath and forced out a choked laugh.

“I, uh… fucked up at the Academy. Joined up for the usual ‘protecting my country’ shit, and ended up convincing my roommate to blow her brains out in front of our entire class of recruits. And our instructor. During a training exercise.”

Both their eyebrows fully raised at that.

“Did _ not _ expect you to have that in you, kid,” Vee blew out a breath. “Your own roommate, though, really?”

“The, uh, exercise it happened during was an intel-gathering exercise. We were supposed to research our partner. And, well, uh, her father was partially responsible for the base that went _boom_ in Germany about a year ago.”

Cale wasn’t connecting the dots. “So… you make a girl kill herself because her dad’s Talon?”

“I… found out she was in talks with him about it.”

“Couldn’t she deny it?”

“When I was asking her about it, I ended up going off the deep end. Because…” you trailed off and sighed before continuing. “My fiancee was stationed at that base and didn’t make it.”

Cale and Vee were silent.

“I never had the chance to get closure until then.”

Vee nodded. “It’s like it was too perfect.”

“Exactly. The Commander says I only ended up in Blackwatch instead of Overwatch was because he was desperate for an analyst, though.”

“Going ‘off the deep end’ and convincing a girl to kill herself in front of a whole class of recruits isn’t exactly Overwatch poster kid material, honey. The fact you’re an analyst is only a little bonus.” 

You buried your face in your hands. You’d relived it enough already.

At that point, you decided to head to your quarters to calm down so you wouldn’t end up having a breakdown in front of dozens of people you didn't know on your first day. 

You told Vee and Cale goodnight, using your training as an excuse to get the hell out of there.

“Hey!” Vee yelled after you. You almost didn’t turn around.

She had a forgiving smile on her face.

“If you survive, maybe we’ll tell you our sob stories some time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize for taking literally forever, lol.  
My lore planning for this became an un-tameable beast I couldn't keep up with on top of 19 hours and a job.  
But, more chapters have been written in my backlog and I will be updating more often throughout winter break!


	4. Reimagined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During your first night in Overwatch, you revisit some an old memory from the Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back! I want to apologize for the extremely long break I took, but I realized my plans/plot/structure were absolutely nowhere near what I wanted them to be, so I've been workshopping this ever since. I kind of overhauled the whole thing (even the name, which doesn't actually reference the Venice incident in this context, and I can promise the Venice incident actually will not show up anywhere in this work) and have been working on it until I feel better about the content. For anyone who tuned into the first few chapters and had to wait this long, welcome back! 
> 
> And as a small warning, there will be recurring descriptions of gun-related and suicide-related violence, so if you're not game with that, please heed the tags, because it's a major plot point.

2:30 a.m. The bright blue light of the clock seemed to be mocking you.

You rolled to your side for what felt like the thousandth time that night. At that rate, you could probably call it a core workout if you wanted to.

Getting used to sleeping in a new place was always difficult, even considering how many times you traveled and moved for your job; well, your old job. And no matter how many new beds you slept in along, you still could never get quite comfortable enough on the first night, or ten. Every time you would begin to feel like you actually lived somewhere, you uprooted and found yourself facing an empty wall every night. The particular wall you were staring at this time felt particularly cold and empty – possibly because you were in a stark paramilitary base, rather than the cozy well-lived European apartments you had gotten so used to.

You knew once you started thinking yourself in circles about your current situation, you wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors. Even pacing the room sounded like a better option.

If there was some kind of sport like marathon pacing, you could probably make it to the Olympics, you thought. You lost count of your laps and returned to your cold bed once you started feeling drowsy. You were out like a light.

You woke to an empty room that felt hauntingly familiar – like you’d been in it many times before, but not in a very long time. As you looked around the room, it felt like you had a brick in your stomach. It was the old lecture classroom in the Academy back at Quantico, and this is the very room in which your assignment briefs were given. It was where you met your somewhat-friends.

It was also one of the last rooms you ever saw in the facility.

As you looked to your right, you were greeted with a familiar face: Katarina. What was your former roommate doing there? Wait, wasn’t she…? Why were you two in the classroom alone? Where were the rest of the trainees, or your instructors? You began to tense up and were met with an overwhelming feeling of dread.

Katarina rose from her chair and stood, gesturing for you to follow her. When her mouth opened and spoke words, there was no sound. You mindlessly followed, almost as if you were hypnotized. You attempted to ask her what she was doing, but as you tried to speak, your mouth would not open.

If not being able to run properly in dreams was bad, you were about to learn that this was much, much worse.

You closed your eyes to take a deep breath and were met with the ceiling in your quarters back in Switzerland when they opened. You were so confused about what you just experienced, you didn’t even know where to begin in terms of unpacking it. You tried to shake off the thoughts and think about something _other_ than your dead roommate. You tried to actively think about anything else but you were so, so tired…

With a blink, you were back in Quantico, Virginia, standing alongside Katarina. She seemed eager, whatever she was trying to do, as she ushered you along a windowless white hallway. The hallway smelled especially sterile, almost like it belonged in a hospital instead.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks strapped to a freight train that was on fire. She was leading you down the very hallway that sealed both of your fates at the Academy and only let one of you walk away with your life. You tried to hold your ground, standing still and pushing her away.

Your limbs would not cooperate and your mouth still would not open, no matter how much you wanted it to. You wanted to scream; you wanted to beg her to stop walking and stop pulling you along and stop looking so god damn _excited_ about whatever it was she wanted to show you. You had no idea what could possibly be behind the door she was dragging you to, because the last thing you saw there was her brain painted all over the wall. You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed to whatever deity was listening that the hallway and your dead roommate would be gone when you opened them back up.

And, to your relief, they were. Your ceiling stared back at you again. It mocked you like the light of your clock, which now read 3:30. You groaned loudly, frustrated at the fact that of course you wouldn’t get any sleep before your first day on the job. You tried one last effort at going to sleep calmly, hoping this time you would finally see _anything_ other than that hallway again when your eyes closed. Counting backwards from a hundred and breathing to your counts slowly, you made it to about 45 before you were out again.

You weren’t lucky. You were further down the seemingly endless white hallway, but you couldn’t determine how much. The irony of how the hallway looked more like the tunnel toward “the light” everyone in movies always spoke about when they were dying didn’t escape you. Katarina was still pulling you along, looking like she was about to show you a present she’d been dying to give you for months.

Since you knew what happened next, you checked her waistband for the gun she had, or at least her red-handle, but couldn’t detect either’s presence hidden under her shirt. If you could have, you would have let out a sigh of relief, because at least it meant you wouldn’t have to relive the painful scene again. At least not this time. You’d already relived it enough to be able to remember it in 40 years’ time.

What you didn’t expect was to see was the exact gun from that incident in your hand. Or for it to be still stained with her blood, even though the Katarina standing in front of you looked untouched and in a single piece. You wanted to scream, but your lips remained sealed and not one note came from your throat. You willed yourself to drop, throw, simply let go of the gun in your hand, but it was as if it was cemented to your palm and fingers. When you attempted to flail, your arms simply hung still at your sides.

With your next blink, you found yourself in the examination room that the pair of you and, well, some of the trainees had used for your counterintelligence exercise. The table, machine, and screens were exactly as they had been the day you entered for the pair exercise. Unlike the gun in your hand, however, they were untouched and in immaculate condition, almost like no person had ever been in the room before.

Katarina moved in front you and simply smiled at you. Her eyes looked sympathetic; they were missing the primal fear she wore the last time you were in the room together.

You had never, in your life, wanted to run away from something more. You begged your brain to let your feet move. They wouldn’t. You tried to force yourself to drop the gun. You couldn’t.

Her delicate hands took hold of yours. Her touch was as gentle as ever. She held one in front of you, and raised the hand joined with the gun until you could look directly down the barrel at her forehead. She unclasped her hand from yours and laid her palm on your knuckles, thumb slipping in front of the trigger. She began to speak, and for the first time, you could hear her words in her sweet, songbird voice:

“Remember that not everything is what it seems.”

Her thumb began to press inward on the trigger as she smiled again at you.

You blinked. That was a mistake.

When your eyes opened, Katarina was not staring up the barrel at you. Your fiancée was.

You felt a fear unlike anything you had experienced before, even when the actual Katarina was standing in front of you with the gun’s barrel kissing her porcelain temple. 

Your body still refused to react.

Then came the bang.

You were almost too afraid to open your eyes again because of what you might’ve seen. Your body was still restrained, but you had more control this time. There was a chill against your face coming from a hard surface, which you discovered was your floor. During your sleep, you must have thrashed so violently while trying to move your limbs that you maneuvered your way to the floor, the sound of which must have caused the bang you had just assumed was the gun going off.

You were very grateful you did not end up witnessing whatever was going to happen after the gun went off.

The clock at your bedside told you the time was 4:00, so you decided to cut your losses and wake for the day. And maybe find some coffee so you could at least come to your senses. You rooted around in the pile of clothes that was no longer neatly folded on your desk, coming up with a sweatshirt and pair of exercise shorts. You weren’t required to be in your office uniform outside of your work hours, so bare minimum it was. And apparently bare minimum included nearly baring your ass; they were the tiniest shorts you had ever worn since college, and you wondered how an organization that was this professional got away with providing those. Especially since you looked more like you were about to visit a dorm laundry room than grab coffee among international spies and some seasoned criminals.

After aimless walking around, you stumbled upon an open door, which you hope meant you found a common area. Peeking in, your hopes were confirmed through the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and a hint of smoke. Sitting at a table by himself was a cowboy – a real-life, honest to God cowboy – who was sneaking in an early cigar alongside what looked like a glass of whiskey or other similar liquor.

“Hoo, darlin’, you look like someone tried to gouge your eyes out 'n shit in the holes.” The man let out a small chuckle and sat up slowly.

You replied to his laughter with a scowl and folded arms.

“Name’s McCree, hon.” He tipped your hat at you. “I’d say call me Jesse, but no one ‘round here’s on much of a first name basis.”

You stayed silent. If you didn’t pay him attention, maybe he would leave you alone to mope and enjoy your coffee in silence.

“You’re the new girl on the team, yeah? What kinda shit get you here? Takes a lot to get a civilian over on this side, but if you went straight to the Team, you must’ve done some shit.”

You tilted your head back and groaned. If you knew you’d be examined like this while just trying to exist, you would take your chances with the nightmares instead.

“First of all, I am not just some civilian off the street, okay? I may not be some seasoned criminal or military veteran, but I did come straight from Quantico, and I was engaged to an Overwatch agent.”

Agent McCree raised his eyebrow at the mention of Overwatch. “You come here to join ‘im?”

“Her, actually, and no. She was assigned to Stuttgart.” His gaze softened when you mentioned the doomed base. You didn’t need to explain any more to him.

“'N what happened with the Feds?”

“Yeah, _sure_, I’ll relive it again for your sake, why the hell not?” You hoped he caught the glare you were throwing his way. “I was in the Academy, analyst side. It was a counter-intel exercise in pairs; we were supposed to find dirt on our partner and interrogate it out of them. I ended up getting my roommate. Long story short, I found out she had connections to the base, yes, the base in Germany. Before we could even sit she pulled out a gun she snuck out of the range and shot herself. In front of me and the camera being broadcast to the classroom.” You shrunk into yourself. “I still have nightmares about it.”

He looked incredulous. “You find somethin’ bad enough to convince this poor girl to kill herself in front of y’all?”

Your silence and leer could have burned right through him.

“It the first time you saw someone die?”

“Yeah.” You looked to the ground.

“What’re the dreams like? Not to make ya relive ‘em, but it’ll help to get it out there.”

You pulled the chair across from him out and took a seat, nearly white-knuckling around your mug. You sighed heavily.

“Well, tonight, I saw the classroom. It was empty, except for me and my roommate. She was talking, but I couldn’t hear her. I followed her like I was hypnotized or something, and she led me back to the interrogation setup. She seemed really excited. Before I knew it, her gun was stuck to my hand, her blood still on it. She held it up and before she pulled the trigger, she suddenly turned into my fiancée. Well, uh, late fiancée, I guess.”

“Shit, sweetpea. You okay after that?”

You looked up at him and gave a weak laugh. “McCree, your first words to me ever were that I looked awful. I think it’s safe to say that I’m not.” He moved a hand over yours. You flinched, remembering Katarina doing the same in your dream. He relaxed his hold and spoke.

“You’re gonna be okay. Takes a while, but you’ll get there.” McCree glanced up at the clock over the doorway. “Well, I gotta get goin’ for a briefing.”

His hand rested on your shoulder before he made his way to the door. “Good luck on the first day, kid. Don’t know what they’re gonna put ya through since you’re non-combat, but I hope for your sake it’s nothin’ like the Boss put us through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, it feels good to be back.  
Some exciting news: I have the next three (3!) chapters already outlined, and two of them already have words on the page. Nice. 
> 
> And as always, come bother me on [tumblr](tumblr.com/adrnired) !


	5. Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We go back to when you met your fiancée, and when it all ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shed way too many tears writing this. I hope you don't. *clinks glass*

You decided would never get over the beauty of Europe in the summer…

…Even if you spent most of your time with your nose buried in your work. Your editor insisted you take the afternoon off, but you were so close to finding the hook for your story that you refused. You didn’t mind working the extra hours, especially if it meant you had less work on your back while you were coming up on your deadline. The interview you were transcribing by hand was full of insightful quotes, and you were eager to record them and determine how you wanted to incorporate them.

Briefly, you wondered if your excitement for your story and your job made you seem lame in comparison to some of the snazzy occupations everyone else in your graduating class snatched up (you still resented one of your former friends who got an editing position at Atlas News). But the gig you picked up at The Daily Post was everything you’d dreamed of getting after graduation – in the wake of the political upheaval following the worldwide game of dominoes that was the Omnic Crisis, your job consisted of being a foreign correspondent on a variety of European affairs that kept bubbling up. Your current beat covered the recovery efforts and current culture of Rome, Italy, following the destruction of the Omnic Crisis. While cities like London and Stuttgart drew most of the public’s attention, historical areas of Rome were ravaged, especially those with religious significance. Not to mention, the bulk of the intelligence forces and the brains behind many attacks across the entirety of Europe were located across the city. The Omnic Crisis ended what felt like forever ago, but political cleanup was still an everyday reality.

You were currently visiting one of the neighborhoods that surprisingly avoided the brunt of the attacks, considering how close it was to Vatican City. Of course, the city rebuilt the ruins surprisingly quickly; “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” and all that.

The riverbank you turned into your outdoor office was possibly your favorite part of the city. A few steps along one of the riverwalks of the Tiber, just past the Circo Massimo and Basilica Julia, right across from the quaint Tiber Island. You would sit along the edge of the paving stones with a perfect view of both the island as well as Ponte Emilio and Ponte Rotto, which you could never imagine seeing back in the States. The small basilica in the middle of the island no longer stood tall, and it motivated you to remember why you were there; the people in the area had all experienced extreme trauma, and your job was to spread the news on how things were changing and how people could return to some semblance of normalcy.

You looked to your left, at the south of the island, where event tents were being raised for L’Isola del Cinema, the annual film fest. Attendees were already milling about, and their happy chatter filled the air around you. It left you with a pang of nostalgia, glad things like community and art could still bring everyone around and spread happiness, even after the seemingly insurmountable tragedy the area faced less than five years prior.

A woman daintily cleared her voice above you. “_Buono sera_, do you mind if I join you?”

You looked up and swore you saw the human personification of an angel, if such a thing ever existed. She had cropped blonde hair, bright and friendly green eyes, and was dressed straight out of the 1970s in a striped turtleneck tank top and flared pants.

Realizing you were probably staring, you nodded energetically. “Not at all!”

She gave you a soft smile and pulled a soft blanket out of her bag to spread out next to you. “_Sono_ Noemi.”

Your hand met hers in a shake, and you thought you were going to unravel at the seams and turn into a cloud of butterflies. You’d always heart about “seeing sparks” or “hearing bells” when someone experienced a love at first sight moment, and you always chalked it up to the way Hollywood always romanticized everything. But in that slice of time, you chucked all those notions out the window and suddenly understood everything.

There was a real-life angel in front of you, holding… no, _shaking_ your hand, and you were instantly in love with her. When she repeated your name to you after your introduction, you thought you could die instantly, right there, and die happily and peacefully. The way her tongue danced over the simple “_Piacere_” as she spoke the greeting to you was mesmerizing.

“I hope you do not mind me intruding. I love watching the sun set here – I visit this spot every week.” Her smile was dazzling.

“Not at all. I’m just finishing up some work for the night. I got distracted by the festival; it’s so pretty.” Your head cocked at an angle as you had a thought. “Hold on a second, how did you know I speak English?”

She let out a small giggle. “Ah, _cara mia_, your American passport is peeking from your bag.” You blushed, embarrassed at the fact you seemed to not have your shit together, and that you probably seemed stupid for asking. “What do you write about? You seem very passionate about it.”

“Not much, really. I work for a newspaper on the East Coast, and I am reporting on politics here. I love it, but it’s honestly boring to everyone else. Like, ‘I’d rather watch paint dry’ boring.” You shrugged. “But it pays the bills and I enjoy it. I get to see places like this a lot.”

Noemi playfully reached over to nudge you. “And people like me too, yes?” She winked and you let out a laugh. She was a charmer, too. A dangerous combination.

You smirked at her. “You are _very_ forward, Noemi. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Me? _Pensi che io sia carina_?” She held a hand to her heart, feigning shock. “Am I cute enough for you to visit the festival with me?”

“Well,” you tapped your fingertip to your chin in thought, “if you buy me a drink, it wouldn’t hurt.”

* * *

Before you knew it, you were tangled in your crisp sheets with your new friend, sneaking in kisses to each other between giggles and featherlight touches.

You shared a peaceful sunset with her, and the two of you had headed over to the festival shortly thereafter, where things were getting in full swing. Vendors had various street food and drinks, and the warm glow of the string lights made an already enchanting night feel even more magical as you danced together to soft music in between short film screenings.

You spent the night sharing stories and your pasts: you told her about your mother passing shortly after you were born from complications of the disease that changed the world so many years ago, how you never met your real father, and how the couple who adopted you had been truly awful, but shaped you into who you had become. You learned that she was a part of the international peacekeeping organization responsible for resolving the Omnic Crisis, Overwatch. She spoke fondly of her close-knit family.

It was the first time in a while you had felt truly content, and happy, even. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself, but you never wanted to leave Noemi’s side.

* * *

Following the never-ending week of affection, you felt empty for the following few months. You had been recalled by your editor back to the States to work on some more gnarly enterprise pieces concerning some of the political moves being made by the American government and how it tied into what you had ended up learning during your time in Rome.

You caught up with Noemi again in Paris in autumn. She was visiting family and encouraged you to visit; she insisted Paris was more gorgeous in the later months of the year than any other time. You had to admit, she was correct.

The streets were not littered with tourists the way they were in the spring and summer, and the colors spanning the city looked like they belonged in an impressionist painting.

You felt the emptiness leave your heart when she kissed you at the peak of the Eiffel Tower and told you she loved you.

* * *

The next visit occurred in your very own office building, months later yet again. The absence almost stung more than the first time you had ever parted ways. Maybe it was because she told you she loved you, maybe it was because you told her that you loved her too, or the fact that your desperate heart had you convinced you would never separate again.

Now that you were together again, those feelings no longer mattered. The love of your life was alongside you, and you were preparing to possibly celebrate the biggest accomplishment of your career thus far.

The entire staff of the Daily Post was gathered in the massive newsroom, waiting on a thin line of patience to hear if the paper had been awarded the Pulitzer you all were nominated for because of the post-Crisis coverage everyone worked so tirelessly on it. Standing with Noemi in the front and center of the room, you felt like the only people in the world.

Her hand held tightly in yours in anticipation made you feel on top of the world. Nothing could ever hurt you when you two were together.

When the announcement came across the screens as the room watched with bated breath, cheers and shouts erupted. You had done it: you and your coworkers had been awarded one of journalism’s most prestigious prizes for your accomplishments.

You felt tears threatening to slip from your eyes, and then Noemi’s hand slipping from yours. As you turned your head to figure out where she was leaving, she caught your eye as she kneeled in front of you.

With a small box in her hand.

She let out a breath and looked up to you with glistening eyes, barely managing to speak above a whisper: “_mi vuoi sposare per favore_?”

Another round of cheers erupted from your coworkers as you gave a silent, tear-filled “yes” to your wife-to-be and wrapped your arms around her as if your life depended on the hug.

You really were on top of the world.

* * *

Until you weren’t.

When you and Noemi showed up to a celebratory dinner with your parents, you were quickly sent right back out the door.

The altercation was filled with tears, begging, and screaming.

Your father sent you off with one last punch to the gut:

“Come back when you’ve found a man.”

* * *

The tears continued, on and off, until you saw Noemi off to the military-grade ship that was transporting her back to the Overwatch base she was going to be stationed at for the next couple of years in Germany. You couldn’t remember the name, but made a mental note to check the information she had given you so that you could still write those sappy, old-fashioned love letters you were so fond of.

Your last embrace was on the steps of the ship, a shaky, hopeful “I love you.”

The next time you saw each other, you would be walking down the aisle and binding your commitment to each other.

* * *

Noemi woke to a cold, steel room with no windows. Her wrists were trapped in cuffs that were soldered to the table.

She was not used to being on this side of the interrogation table.

Her pupils dilated as her eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, trying to check where she was, in a panic. She didn’t remember any kind of attack on her dropship back to base.

Her vision caught the faint deep red of the Talon emblem on the wall, and she slouched in her seat as she let out a sigh of relief. Well, she was sort of where she was supposed to be. That counted for something.

A booming voice behind Noemi startled her into proper posture again.

“Give me one reason I should not execute where you sit right now. Last time I checked, your mission was _not_ to fall in love with the stupid bitch. Nice rock, though. Shame you won’t be able to wear it any more.”

Her heart almost leapt out of her chest when a pair of strong hands settled on her shoulders.

* * *

You twirled in the mirror in front of your form. “Majestic” was the closest word you could put on how you looked.

The dress you spent days picking out had finally been tailored, and it had arrived on your doorstep in its box moments ago.

The dress was magnificent – all white, which you swore you would never wear in your lifetime, with an intricate lace bodice and long shimmery sleeves, complemented by the long, flowing skirt. If there was any time you could describe feeling like a princess, it would be that moment. It fit like a glove, and you felt like a million bucks.

You snapped a cute photo of yourself in the mirror, complete with a cute pouty face and your glass of rosé. Your finger hovered on the “send” button in your conversation with Noemi, but you were interrupted by a call from your editor. You groaned. It was a Saturday evening, and she knew better than to reach you during your only private time of the week.

“Please tell me this is important, Heather. My wedding dress just got here and I’m trying it on to make sure it fits.”

You were met with silence on the other end of the line.

And more silence.

“Honey, you’re going to want to sit down and turn on the news. You’re also not going to like what I have to say next, but I need you on this story. You’re the only one I trust with it.”

Your stomach dropped and your nerves increased. You slowly moved to the remote, clicking on the screen to whatever channel you last had playing.

When you read the headline, your phone slipped from your hand and clattered to the ground. It felt like your heart did the same.

You then prayed to every fucking deity you could think of on the Earth and beyond that_ this. wasn’t. happening_.

The news ticker was mocking you: “German Overwatch base site of terrorist attack.”

The footage, repeating over, and over, and over showed the tall flames and smoldering wreckage of what little was left of the base.

But you had a job to do, and you knew it was the biggest responsibility you would ever have at that job. If anything, you hoped it would keep you busy while you waited to hear about confirmed death tolls and if Noemi was among them.

You gulped the glass of wine, not caring one bit how much you were spilling on your dress. You wobbled over to your kitchen, unscrewed the cap on the closest hard liquor you could find, and splashed it into the wine glass.

A glass and a half later, you submitted the story to Heather and gave her a quick call.

When she answered, you only had two simple, shaky words for her:

“I quit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things pick up soon. I love you all.  



End file.
